Boys' Night Out
by netrat
Summary: COMPLETE! With a little help from Newkirk, Carter discovers the horrors of living at Stalag 13... schnapps, women, and song. (In response to the My Very First Mission Challenge.)


_DISCLAIMER: I still don't own Hogan's Heroes._

_This is my second Hogan's Heroes fanfic and also my response to the My Very First Mission Challenge, posted on Smartgroups.com by Lauren (the Oboe one). The rules are outlined at the end. (Sorry Lauren, no first person POV here... but maybe just one bonus point for the choice of viewpoint character? *hopeful grin* :-))_

****

**_Boys' Night Out_**

**_by netrat_**

Slowly, Carter crept though the thick German underbrush, listening intently for even the tiniest noise. At night and all alone except for his companion, it was almost impossible to tell just how far he really was away from his native North Dakota. He kept feeling reminded of how he and his cousins used to play cowboys and indians when they were kids, sometimes even after dark, and it was hard to bear in mind that this time, the game was deadly serious: Tonight, if the cowboys got them, they'd shoot them with more than just water pistols.

_Boy, it sure has been a wild six weeks_, Carter thought. A month and a half ago, his plane had been shot down. Then, a turbulent series of escaping, being caught, and escaping again had led him to Stalag 13 with its well-known no-escape record and a senior POW who frankly didn't seem all that intent on breaking it. Though still determined to flee at the first chance he got, Carter had almost resigned himself to spending at least a couple of weeks behind fences and machine gun turrets… yet now, only a few days after his arrival, he was creeping through the nightly forest and having trouble remembering the danger he was in. It might be a cliché but it was true: Somehow, the air managed to smell much fresher this side of the barbed wire.

"Come 'ere!" His traveling companion, the English prisoner Newkirk, grabbed the sleeve of Carter's civilian jacket and pointed him to the forest road that could barely be made out in the dark. Soon, they were walking briskly towards the first houses of Hammelburg, a sleepy village that remined Carter a lot of Bullfrog, North Dakota. At 10 p. m., all the streets were deserted, the shutters closed, the heavy iron grates in front of the shop windows down. Newkirk gazed wistfully in the direction of what seemed to be the village pub as they passed its lighted windows. The strains of an unfamiliar song carried out into the street… _that's probably German_, Carter thought, although it _could _have been very mangled English (of the sort Newkirk spoke).

Their destination, the Mondscheinstrasse, was as deserted as the other streets… except for its only shop, a butcher's. There, a young man – certainly no older than Carter himself – stood in the half-open door as if he were just trying to catch a breath of fresh air. He didn't seem surprised at the arrival of two strangers.

"My brother says Mars is very bright these days", he suddenly claimed when they were near enough to listen, in slow, carefully accentuated English.

Newkirk nudged Carter, who politely offered: "That's funny, my sister says the same about Venus."

His response seemed to satisfy the man, who concluded: "It must be a boy-and-girl thing, then." The code being successfully exchanged, he visibly relaxed. "I am Franz", he continued, still in the same slow English. "I think you will give me something for my father?"

Newkirk nodded and, seemingly without moving, suddenly had a package of American cigarettes in his hand, which he held out for Franz to take. _Nothing fancy_, Colonel Hogan had said when he'd told Carter about the first mission he would take part in. _Just a little espionage, piece of cake. I want you to remember the person and the place._

"The microfilm's in 'ere", Newkirk added when the young German looked at him with obvious surprise.

"Oh." Franz finally caught on, grabbed the package and hastily stuffed it into his trouser pocket. "_Danke_. I must go now. Be careful tonight. Sometimes there are patrols these days."

***

"Nice bloke, Frantzie", Newkirk whispered to Carter as they made their way back through the village. "His father owns the butcher's. Whole family's in the underground, mum, dad an' all. Even old Granny Kuchler." They turned, crossed a street and quickened their pace. Suddenly, Carter fancied he heard footsteps behind them. _German soldiers!_ He opened his mouth –

"A bloody patrol!"

- and found himself already grabbed by Newkirk, who shoved him towards a door that opened when Carter tumbled against it. He staggered into a large, dimly-lit room and tried to guess just where he had landed.

It happened to be the village pub.

As he turned, Newkirk was pushing the door shut and amiably nodding at other patrons with a carefree attitude that suggested his only worry tonight was to get a decent drink or two. Still listening for the sound of soldiers' boots, Carter followed the Englishman thought a mist of stale smoke that, like the old and worn furniture, made the place seem much darker than it actually was. This had to be the famous Hofbrau Carter had heard the Frenchman, LeBeau, mention. Most of the patrons had stopped talking and were staring at him over their beer steins. Carter suddenly felt nervous. _Maybe my clothes don't  look right_. He realised that his fingers were compulsory straightening the seam of his too-short civilian jacket, before catching himself and lacing them in front of this body so they would keep still. 

Much like a moth to the light, Newkirk had already gravitated towards the bar where a buxom blonde was just setting down a tray. "_Zwei Schnapps bitte, Fraulein_", he ordered with a grin. She nodded. Still feeling rather apprehensive, Carter set his elbows onto the bar next to his English friend. He didn't think the people here were actually hostile, just… wary of strangers… it was a bit like that at home, actually, but much less than here. In Bullfrog, while you didn't want to trust every stranger, at least you didn't have to think he was a Gestapo agent out to spy on you. "Shouldn't we better leave? The Colonel…"

"Shh!" Glancing quickly around the room to make sure no-one seemed to be listening in their direction, Newkirk replied in a whisper: "He won't be expectin' us too soon, not if there's patrols around. Might as well make it a boys' night out, enjoy ourselves a bit. Right?"

"I suppose so", Carter said reluctantly.

"B'sides, didn't the guv'nor tell you to go see places an' meet people? This place 'ere is the world-famous Hofbrau… best bloody thing the Jerries stole from us, pubs."

The buxom waitress brought the schnapps and smiled at her guests. Somewhat less nervous already, Carter smiled back. Then she was gone and he sniffed the clear liquid in the very small glass in front of him. It smelled sharp, slightly like ammonia. "Should we really drink this?"

"That's not alcohol, mate", Newkirk encouraged him, glass already in hand. "That's… a bloody weapon, see? Know your enemy, know 'is schnapps."

"A weapon?"

"Sure. The Jerries want to make us drunk." Newkirk lifted the glass and gulped down its content without pausing. Carter did the same. The schnapps burned like fire in his throat, making him cough. "You're right", he managed. "That _is_ a weapon."

Newkirk grinned. "You like this stuff? Thought so. See, bein' in Germany isn't all bad… bet your mum doesn't let you drink schnapps at home, does she?"

The smile that had been about to spread on Carter's face disappeared. _Home, yes_. His parents and cousins and Mary Jane with her braids and her bright blue eyes, how he missed them already… How much better it would be to sit in his mom's kitchen eating apple pie, than to lean on a bar in the midst of Germany drinking schnapps… Suddenly, Bullfrog, North Dakota seemed to be on a different planet.

He felt Newkirk's hand on his shoulder. "I know you're missin' your folks", the Englishman said, suddenly quiet. "We all do. An' we can't go home, but at least we can 'ave a bit o'fun while we're 'ere, right?"

Carter looked up, putting on his brave face as Mary Jane used to call it. "Right." He tried to sound more determined than he really felt.

"Good." Newkirk gave him an encouraging grin. "So let's 'ave a bit more fun, an' a bit more… _Fraulein! Noch zwei Schnapps, bitte!_"

*** 

Half an hour later, Carter was beginning to think that the schnapps wasn't really all that bad… which probably just went to show he'd had one too many. Putting down another empty glass, Newkirk suddenly whistled through his teeth. Carter followed his gaze and saw a dark-haired woman lean over from the other end of the bar. Newkirk grinned at her. She smiled back, quite encouragingly. 

"'xcuse me, mate", Newkirk muttered and gently shoved the younger man out of the way.

Holding his glass of schnapps as if he were about to toast someone, Carter watched the Englishman introduce himself to the woman. Suddenly, she gave an amused start as he presented her with a slightly dusty paper flower he seemed to have conjured from thin air. Carter glanced around until he saw the slightly dusty vase it was missing from, on a table Newkirk had just passed. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying not to think of his parents' neighbour back home, old Barney, who knew a couple of card tricks and used to entertain kids by making dollar bills disappear before their eyes. He and Carter had been quite the team at parties: magic and fireworks.

_You can't go home just yet…_

He gulped down his last schnapps, which burned but didn't help to ease the sudden tightening of this throat. Then he made his way to the men's toilet, which was cleaner than he'd expected. When he came back to his post at the bar, the woman was gone and Newkirk was talking to a man who must have arrived while Carter was away. Slightly dizzy, Carter watched the two of them. Given how unhappy Newkirk looked, it was clear that he hadn't been the one to encourage the conversation.

The newcomer was short and dressed all in black, with a thin mustache and slicked-back hair that made him look as if he'd just crawled out of a slimy pond. When he half-turned to let the waitress pass, Carter saw that he was wearing a red armband with the swastika on it. No wonder Newkirk looked ready to run! Carter's first impulse was to go over and help him… but how? And wouldn't it be stupid to let the Gestapo man know that there were _two_ enemy soldiers in the room? Without arousing anyone's suspicion, or so he hoped, Carter slowly edged closer just in time to hear the Gestapo man comment on Newkirk's strange accent.

"_Ich bin Oesterreicher_ [I am an Austrian]", Newkirk countered, which seemed to disperse some – but not all – of the man's suspicion.

"_So, so. Und wie heissen Sie?_ [And what is your name?]"

"Hans… Hans Burkhalter."

The Gestapo man's eyes narrowed. "_Verwandt mit General Albert Burkhalter?_ [A relative of General Albert Burkhalter?]"

"_Ja, ich bin sein Neffe._ [I'm his nephew.]"

Trying to follow the conversation with his meager knowledge of German, Carter wasn't entirely sure if Newkirk was trying to be clever or just saying the first things that came to his mind – probably the latter, though. The oily-haired Gestapo man still didn't seem entirely convinced.

"_Sein oesterreichischer Neffe_ [His Austrian nephew]", Newkirk continued.

"_Ist das so_?" With an impatient noise, the Gestapo man suddenly turned around before Newkirk could dream up another answer. For a moment, the man was looking in Carter's direction and Carter felt sure he was being discovered to be an American spy. He didn't like the stranger's eyes at all… Then, the Gestapo man again turned on his heel and walked off towards the back part of the room. Newkirk let out a sigh of relief, but his expression quickly changed into one of alarm when Carter sidled up to him. He tried to gesture frantically without attracting any notice. Finally, Carter caught on: Newkirk didn't want the Gestapo man to realise that they belonged together. The Englishman was nodding and pointing towards the door now. Obediently, Carter slowly made his way towards the exit.

The Gestapo man was standing near it with his back to Carter, next to another man who was wearing civilian clothes and sitting in a shadowy corner as far away as possible from the other patrons. They were talking in hushed German of which Carter could understand only a few words: "Burkhalter's nephew here… might be suspicious… at Eppingen airfield…" He quickly made his way past them, thankful that neither looked up until he was at the door and slipped outside. The night air tasted even better than after they'd left the camp behind. He slid into a dark doorway nearby, hoping that Newkirk wouldn't take too long.

He barely had to wait five minutes. "Bloody 'ell!", Newkirk complained once they were out of earshot. "I thought he'd arrest me, guess he was just 'fraid of ol' Burkhalter. The guv'nor would 'ave 'ad me court-martialed if any of us'd been caught. Let's 'urry back to our nice, safe prison camp, shall we?"

***

They went as fast as the night, the terrain, and the possibility of Germans lurking in the underbrush would permit. Carter felt exhausted by the time they finally reached the treestump that concealed their tunnel entrance. Soon they were back in the barracks where Hogan was pacing impatiently while the others sat on various pieces of furniture, breathing sighs of relief as soon as Carter popped his head out from under Sergeant Kinchloe's bunk. 

Hogan still seemed intent on having both of them court-martialed, although he focused most of his irritation on Newkirk.

"We 'ad to hide from a patrol, Colonel."

Hogan sniffed the air. Only now did Carter realise that the civilian clothes they still wore smelled of stale smoke… among other things.

"And we may 'ave 'ad a cigarette or two."

Hogan sniffed again. "And a schnapps or two, it seems."

Newkirk had the sense to be quiet this time. Carter thought that he should say something, but really couldn't figure out, what… not that Hogan would have given him the opportunity in any case.

"Have you gone insane, Corporal? I told you to take Carter into town to meet Franz! Or did I tell you to get him drunk at the Hofbrau, 'cause I don't remember it so well! There's a war going on in case you've forgotten… you'll have to wait with the drinking until you get back to London!"

"Colonel, I –"

"Sir, we –"

Hogan glanced from one of them to the other, then decided to focus on Newkirk.

"I just heard someone volunteer for four weeks' kitchen duty… that's two weeks for you, Sergeant. You're new, but I expect you to appreciate the danger we are in."

Carter saluted. "Yes, sir!"

"Yes, Colonel."

Hogan let out a deep breath and turned around. The anger seemed to have passed. "All right. Don't ever pull a stunt like that ever again. Ever. You're just damn lucky you didn't run into Hochstetter."

_He must have eyes in the back of his head_, Carter thought. Hogan certainly shouldn't have seen Newkirk's guilty expression.

"You _did_ run into Hochstetter?" Carter could almost feel the Colonel's anger welling up again.

"Colonel, I –"

Hogan stared at both of them for another long moment, then turned on his heel, deliberately ignoring Newkirk while addressing the others. "All right, as I said, now we need to find out where they keep those plans Klink has been letting on about. If the Luftwaffe had to invite the Gestapo to any of its bases, where would that be?"

Feeling stupid, but still determined, Carter slowly raised his hand. Hogan, who'd been looking at LeBeau, didn't notice right away. Then:

"Yes, Sergeant Carter?"

"Sir… I don't know what you're talking about, really… but Hochstetter, if that's who he was, mentioned something about Eppingen airfield… he thinks that Burkhalter's getting suspicious about something because he's sent his nephew to Hammelburg…" Carter's voice trailed off.

"Burkhalter's neph…" Hogan turned, glanced from Carter to a still guilty-looking Newkirk. "Never mind. I really don't want to hear this." He fixed his gaze on Carter, who felt compelled to add: "I'm sorry, sir, I don't understand German well, so I don't know anything else."

"Eppingen, that could be it", Sergeant Kinchloe – Kinch, as the others called him – said thoughtfully. "The distance's about right."

"See if you can confirm that, Kinch." Hogan turned around again. To Carter's surprise, a smile was slowly spreading on the Colonel's face. "All right. I really should have the pair of you court-martialed, but… good job, Sergeant Carter. You might just have completed your first successful espionage mission. Congratulations."

Carter could feel the tension leave the barracks. Everyone seemed to relax at once.

"Seein' as how he's been so useful… any chance of a reduced sentence, guv'nor?"

"No", Hogan responded almost instantly. "And if I were you and liked my rank, Corporal Newkirk, I might shut up now."

"Yes, sir." But Newkirk was grinning and Hogan was trying hard not to. Carter himself felt like laughing. So he wasn't home and couldn't go home and had just barely escaped being court-martialed… but he wasn't alone, either. _And that_, Carter thought, _definitely must count for something_.

THE END

So, how do you like it? Reviews are appreciated!

----------

_THE MY VERY FIRST MISSION CHALLENGE_

_On 4 November 2003, Lauren wrote: _

_Subject: A story challenge!  
  
_

_Hey gang!  
With the Papa Bear Awards underway, I figured now might be a fun time to offer up another little challenge to the group. If your fingers are fast you might get another story up in time for this years nominations!_

_I call this My Very First Mission challenge._

_Pick an existing character sitting around in Stalag 13 and describe the very first secret mission they went on as a member of Hogan's Heroes. Perhaps it's something small, like spying on Klink while something else went on. Perhaps it's big, like going out to blow something up. Whatever you think one of the guy's very first missions was after coming to Stalag 13._

_I leave the field of characters open to any existing Hogan Hero; Hogan, Newkirk, Carter, Kinch, LeBeau, Baker, Olsen...any of the prisoners in the camp who did anything for the cause are eligible._

_The mission can be something from an actual episode or something you make up yourself._

_Bonus points if it's in first person POV. :-)  
Lauren (the Oboe one) ___


End file.
